


All That Matters

by Persephone



Series: Lord's F*cken Name [2]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Floor Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest, Tube Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The perks of the rough end of the trade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Matters

Connor was certain Murphy was gonna fall right off the table, but Murphy wasn’t likely to take any advice from him about it.

He sucked on the cigarette hanging between his slack lips to hold it in place and reached for the gun Murphy was brandishing over his head.

Murphy was on his back on the thing that passed for a dining table in Rocco’s apartment, fighting for space with cartons of pizza, cans of beer, ashtrays, plastic ketchup bottles, and a whole mess of other junk Connor couldn’t even figure out.

“Murph!” He smacked Murphy’s arm once, then harder when Murphy didn’t seem to feel it. Murphy kept on rolling around precariously, mumbling and reveling in their evening’s success.

And how fucken well had they done, eh? Their very first hit. Smooth drop in – all right, _fall_ in – even smoother shootin’, big fat cash haul, no injuries. Nicely done indeed. They had been right to be nervous before the hit, but they had been even more right in doing the hit. Righteously so.

He managed to secure a grip on Murphy’s thigh, but merely held on, ’cause first he had to pluck his cigarette from his lips and blow out the smoke that had accumulated in his mouth. Aye, they’d done well, and it was a tremendous feeling, such unmitigated success.

But somethin’ was naggin’ him about the nature of Rocco’s arrival at the hotel room, and he should remember to bring it up later.

He stuck the cigarette between his lips once more and grabbed for the gun again, but his reflexes were so fucken slow. Too much fucken whiskey. Still, he tried again, carefully coordinating both his arms with Murphy’s movements.

He finally got hold of Murphy’s forearms. “Let it go,” he complained, gently wagging them.

Murphy’s arms relaxed and Connor pulled the gun toward him, away from Rocco sitting obliviously across from them.

Rocco was looking down at a pizza carton in front of him, swaying gently. His long shaggy hair fell forward across his face, but was he drooling a bit? Aye, that he was. Rocco fell out of his chair and landed unconscious under the table.

Connor finally got hold of Murphy’s gun.

“Nooo!” Murphy yelled weakly, swatting him. But he let him take it, then slowly sat up on the table and looked about him blearily. Connor checked to see that the safety was still on.

“Fucken Christ,” Murphy swore softly, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I fear success has gone to your head,” Connor chided, dropping the gun on the table. He pushed back his chair and stood up. Murphy was smiling blissfully up at him, and Connor felt a small warm smile pull across his own lips. Fucken Murph.

Murphy reached for his shoulders. “Ces Russes,” he whispered, closing his eyes in satisfaction. “Ils n'ont jamais su ce qui les a frappées.”

He threw his head back and howled softly at the ceiling, his body tilting backwards so that Connor had to grab his arms to hold him upright.

“Stop yer foolin’ Murph,” he growled, pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

He stubbed it out on the table to add one more black charred spot to it, vaguely wondering what the fuck the ashtrays were for then.

He bent his knees and braced his shoulder across Murphy’s broad chest and straightened, lifting Murphy with him. Murphy’s arms wrapped around his waist and Connor could feel his muffled howling against his back.

What the fuck was he doing carrying Murphy’s half conscious bulk when he could have just as easily rolled him into Rocco’s bedroom? Jaysus Christ, but Murph was heavy.

He walked slowly, as much needing to be careful of his footing in the junkyard apartment as wanting to feel Murphy’s weight on him. Murphy began spanking his arse, cackling all the way. Connor stumbled.

“Motherfuck—!”

Murphy howled louder, until Connor was laughing too hard to walk properly. He collapsed against the side of the bed and dumped Murphy on the mattress. Murphy landed on his back and Connor quickly shoved him onto his stomach, then jumped on his back.

Murphy’s howling dissolved into harsh breathless giggling which left Connor choking on his own laughter. He spun on Murphy's back and used his knees to trap his arms against his sides.

“One good beatin’ deserves another,” he managed to declare between breaths, before commencing to spank Murphy's arse good and hard.

Murphy wriggled wildly under him, howling and making crazy noises, but Connor had him pinned. He stuck his hand under Murphy’s thigh and gripped right above his knee, a spot that reliably destroyed Murphy’s control. He wasn’t disappointed. Murphy began to wail and thrash, laughing so hard he seemed on the verge of tears.

“No! No, Connor, no!” Murphy’s voice was breaking, and it only made Connor squeeze harder. “I’ll fucken kill ya!”

He gave Murphy another hard spank, and despite his arms being immobilized Murphy bucked and threw them both off the bed.

Connor landed hard on the floor, swearing loudly as Murphy crashed down on him.

“I’ll fucken kill ya!” Murphy was sputtering, pummeling him with blows. Connor tried to catch his breath, afraid he was giggling himself now, doing as much as he could with his arms and legs to ward off Murphy's attack. Murphy was relentless, gasping for breath through his laughter, his eyes black and throwing off sparks.

Jaysus, what happened to the fucken whiskey? He was getting pulverized!

Then he had a brilliant flash of an idea. “Murph!” he cried, whipping his head in the direction of the bedroom door. “Holyfuckenshit!”

Murphy froze, fists raised, and whipped in the same direction. Connor had no idea what the fuck Murphy could possibly think was there, but Murphy never failed to fall for shit like that.

“Ya fucken idiot!” he shouted triumphantly and flipped their positions.

Murphy howled piteously to find himself underneath again, but Connor was exhausted, and simply collapsed on top of him. He held still and Murphy immediately stopped moving, knowing their fight was over.

Murphy’s arms wrapped around his back and squeezed tight. Connor shoved his arms under Murphy’s shoulders until his fingers could brush his neck, then dropped his head into the crook of Murphy’s shoulder and slowed his breathing until it was regular again.

He didn’t need to look to know where Murphy’s tattoo of the Blessed Mother was on his neck. His thumbs traced circles on Murphy’s smooth, warm skin. Then his tongue replaced his thumb.

“Aye,” Murphy sighed softly, and spread his legs wider. Connor settled against him and closed his eyes.

Except for their breathing there was silence in the room for a while as he traced with his tongue.

Then he pressed his lips to the tattoo and recited from his heart. “I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,” he whispered. “I was given life, that I might enjoy all things…”

Murphy’s arms began to relax ever so slightly, and Connor knew he was falling asleep. He lowered his voice even more. “I received everything I asked for, and everything I hoped for. Despite myself, my prayers, even unspoken, were answered. I am, among men, most assuredly blessed.”

He stopped. Murphy’s breathing had evened. Connor carefully rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Amen.”

It was only a matter of seconds before he too drifted off to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again the windows were dark. It was still night, but Christ only knew what the hour was.

He shifted a bit and saw that while their lower halves were still entangled, his upper body had slid off Murphy’s, or had been pushed off, and he was now lying face down on a pile of Rocco’s clothes.

He tried not to inhale, and lifted his head to see Murphy opening his eyes.

Connor let his head drop back down, and they laid there staring at each other, half entwined, half separated.

His heart began doing its tight contraction as Murphy smiled his sweet slow smile at him. Everything Murphy felt showed in that smile. And if that was nice, then his eyes were even nicer.

Connor could look as deep and as far as he wanted and all he would see in those eyes was happiness.

The last tendrils of nervousness from earlier in the evening finally fell away. He hadn’t said anything to Murphy except to express a general anxiety right before the hit, but the truth was he had been nervous to look into Murphy’s eyes and see even a little fear.

Murphy feared nothing except what Connor feared, and Connor feared separation. And to see it reflected and magnified in Murphy’s eyes made Connor come apart.

But, there had been no fear in Murphy’s eyes, and all was fine.

He placed his hand on Murphy’s chest and ran it all the way down, past his navel. Murphy’s breathing deepened as he watched Connor expectantly. Connor twisted his hand under Murphy's jersey and spread his fingers over the hard muscles.

Murphy whimpered softly. Connor licked his dry lips.

“Are ye too affected by the alcohol for it?”

Murphy shook his head, staring solemnly at him. “I woke up for it,” he said hoarsely.

“Myself as well,” Connor whispered, staring back.

Murphy shifted towards him, untangling their legs as he did so. Connor turned his head in the other direction just as Murphy surged over him, pressing his chest into Connor’s back and lowering his head.

Murphy slowly bit his neck, on his tattoo of the Blessed Mother, and Connor felt his cock twitch in his jeans. He made a small sound of approval.

Murphy replaced his teeth with his tongue, rapidly flicking its tip against the faintly stinging skin. Connor closed his eyes and sank into the waves of pleasure emanating from the spot and swimming through his body.

Too soon, Murphy pulled away. Supporting himself on his elbow to one side of Connor’s body, he pushed Connor’s darker but identical jersey up over his back, exposing an expanse of tingling skin. He slid his leg between Connor’s, using his knee to push Connor’s up and out.

Connor slid his hand under Murphy's thigh and held it tight against his. There would be no tickling this time. Murphy, knowing too that they were now on a different wavelength, didn’t react except to press his knee harder into Connor’s leg.

Murphy’s warm mouth moved slowly across his shoulder blades, down one side of his back and up the other. He wasn’t sucking or kissing, just… smearing his lips over Connor’s flesh, sometimes letting his tongue slide out to leave a wet trail. Connor’s fingers dug into the pile of clothes under him.

“Fucken right, Murph,” he groaned softly, then rocked gently from side to side. It was incredible the things Murphy was good at.

His neglected jersey slid back down into place. He felt Murphy burrow his head under it, stretching it, but never stopping for a moment.

Murphy’s hand pressed under his body and Connor lifted his hips. Through his fog of pleasure he was somehow able to reach down and help him work his belt loose. With one hand apiece they had two hands, and were able to make short work of his belt and zipper.

Murphy frantically pulled off Connor’s jeans and Connor had no idea how he managed, but half a minute later his were coming off as well. Murphy’s weight suddenly pressed into his lower body as Murphy lifted his chest to discard his jersey, and Connor vaguely moaned, “Ow,” but offered no help as Murphy got his off as well.

Murphy climbed half way on top of him, pushing his knee as far as it would go, breathing hotly against the side of his face. Connor turned his head and Murphy slid his tongue into his mouth. Connor gently bit on it, keeping it in his mouth as he writhed slowly under him, pushing against him just to feel his weight, naked and incredibly hard, pressing him into the floor.

Murphy rapidly thrust his tongue and Connor shuddered, turning and groaning deeply into the layer of clothes beneath his head, his earlier trepidations about them forgotten. Murphy took the opportunity to pull back. Connor heard him spit, then felt his wet cock head press into his entrance.

He gasped quietly at the accompanying pain and relaxed his body, pushing back, shuddering as he was breached.

Murphy’s arm contracted hard around his chest, then even harder. He dropped his head onto Connor's shoulder and echoed Connor’s quiet sounds as he began thrusting shallowly, slowly, his body moving rhythmically against Connor’s, sliding and spreading warmth all over his back.

“Connor,” Murphy moaned into his ear.

“Aye, Murph,” he panted back, burning up over the desperation in Murphy’s voice. “Fuck yes, fuck—”

“Fucken lubrication,” Murphy keened. “S’what we fucken need.”

“Fucken shut it,” Connor groaned.

They only had this argument when Murphy remembered to, having never used artificial lubrication with each other.

They had learned like this, the pain, then the pleasure, and they both knew doing it any other way would never feel right. The pain would subside, and after so many years it didn't even come back later, passing as if it had never been.

The only memory of it would be the feel of Murphy’s arm contracting so intensely around his chest that it seemed he only breathed because Murphy did it for him.

He rocked his hips from side to side, pushed back, then let out a long, low groan as Murphy’s cock finally sank in all the way. He reached behind him and sank his fingers into the back of Murphy’s head, pulling their heads tighter together, bracing for the pleasure promising to explode in his body and mind.

Murphy locked both arms around his chest, pulled back out to his tip, his cock now slicked naturally with his own emissions, and thrust deep.

“Oh _God!_ ” Connor howled into the pile of clothes, astonished that he always thought he was ready for this when he could never possibly be.

He dragged his fingers through Murphy’s hair, knowing he was scratching Murphy’s scalp but helpless to do anything about it. And Murphy fucked him with total abandon.

Murphy wailed much too loudly, as if it were his first time, as if he didn’t know what was happening to him, and Connor’s eyes suddenly stung with tears as he panted his twin’s name. He clawed at Murphy’s head and cried out words he couldn’t make sense of because Murphy’s hoarse cries for him were burning everything else from his head.

He reached down and Murphy reached with him, Murphy's hand tightening on his cock right before he got to it. He tightened his hand over Murphy’s, and when Murphy drove into him again holding him like that he came in a burst of heat that blocked everything out.

He spasmed, awareness sporadically spiking through his mind that Murphy had begun writhing fiercely on top of him, shuddering through his climax.

When things subsided they did so in gentle contrast, and they were half asleep before realizing they were still joined. They pulled apart long enough for Connor to yank the blanket off the bed and throw it over them.

They slept side by side.

Murphy must have woken up only a few seconds before he did because he was still rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes as Connor's eyes adjusted to the light spilling in from everywhere.

Murphy stretched, bumping their legs together, then stopped.

“Hey, Conn,” he said, moving his foot around until it was stroking Connor’s. “Give us your socks. I didn't wipe off last night.”

Connor turned and looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Come on, I can’t use our clothes, an’ I sure as fuck am not using Roc’s things. Just one sock.”

“ _What?_ ”

It was no more than a horrified gasp, but Murphy heard it well enough. Yet it didn’t stop him from scooting down and yanking off one of Connor’s utilitarian white tube socks.

Connor made a screeching sound. “ _What_ the fuck ’er you doin’!”

Murphy was gleefully snorting laughter, ready to defile his sock, when they heard stumbling in the hallway. Murphy tossed the sock and dove back under the blanket.

Rocco blundered in, trying to keep from keeling forward head first. He was rubbing his eyes, but dropped his hands and groaned loudly when he saw them.

“Aww, man!” he sputtered, waving his large arms around wildly, trying to obstruct his vision. “Jesus Christ, guys! Do you gotta do that _here?_ It’s fucking gross! Fucking unnatural!”

“Terrible!” Murphy joined at the top of his lungs, squirming under the blanket.

Connor sat up a bit, propping his head in his hand.

“Don’t worry, Roc,” he said soothingly. “As long as ye don’t approve, ye can still make it to heaven.”

Out of the corner of his eye Connor saw Murphy discreetly reach for the sock he had dropped and pull it under the blanket.

He looked incredulously at Murphy. “Don’t ye fucken do it.”

When Murphy only smiled blissfully at him, he lunged for him. Murphy chortled wildly and rolled out of his reach, taking most of the blanket with him.

“Jeez! Put some fucking—! Aww jeez!” Rocco whipped around and banged his head against the door jamb not once but twice, before he was able to get his coordination and stumble out of the room.

“Roc!” Connor called. “Wait, we must talk to ye!”

But Rocco was long gone. He heard the front door bang and decided he would have to go outside later and talk to him.

“Eh?” Murphy asked, stilled for the moment. “What're we talkin’ to him about, Conn?”

“After,” Connor dismissed, and narrowed his eyes at Murphy’s arm under the blanket.

“You and yer fucken socks,” Murphy taunted, and casually began stroking himself, watching Connor.

Connor's jaw dropped. Murphy was doin’ it. He was fucken wiping off with his sock!

“Murph,” he said calmly. “Gimme it or I’ll fucken hurt you. I swear to Christ I will.”

“Fucken pervert,” Murphy snickered.

He flung himself after Murphy. Murphy snorted laughter through his nose as he took the brunt of Connor’s weight against his chest. Then he played keep-away with the sock as they both howled and grunted and rolled into the wooden footboard of the bed with a hard thud.

Connor felt Murphy’s body struggling under his, felt his arms and legs beating against him, felt the vibrations of his laughter against his shoulder where his head was buried, and felt at peace.

No matter what they were meant to do, they would do it together and as best they knew how. Murphy was here with him, would always be with him. And to him, that was all that mattered in the whole world.

_End_


End file.
